


Witchers & Witches

by TeamSeaSlug



Category: Pandora Hearts, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Self-Indulgent, Witcher AU, but I wanted to write it anyways, no one asked for this, people who are unfamiliar with the Witcher series are still welcome, tags will be updated regularly, the relationship is not the focus of the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamSeaSlug/pseuds/TeamSeaSlug
Summary: “And what if, at the end of all this, and we’re still together-” Vincent stretched out his hand on Gilbert’s bandages, laying the palm flat on his back, his red eye opening again to look at him- the slim, inhuman pupil adjusting once again. “- What happens when we run out of monsters?”Gilbert scoffed, “There will always be monsters.”





	1. A Campfire

**Author's Note:**

> No one necessarily asked for Pandora Hearts Witcher AU but I really wanted to write it. Also, look at me, writing stuff with an actual plot.
> 
> You do not have to be familiar with the Witcher series to read this, but it is recommended that you are familiar with Pandora Hearts. Major plot points and characters of the Witcher series will NOT be showing up in this.

A Campfire

 

“Next time, do you think that perhaps I should handle the coin?”

 

It was the only thing that had been said for two hours; the night was silent other than the crackles of the fire, the breath shared between the two horses, and the sound of Gilbert unwinding the gauze only to wind it around himself in another layer. Vincent lay, curled on the ground, his stomach pressed against the back of his older brother’s sitting frame. He didn’t respond.

 

They had been prepared, as they always were prepared, but mistakes were made. He had to remind both himself and his brother that. The both of them knew the Path was a dangerous one, that the monsters could gore anyone, even trained professionals. Many had died doing similar things before. Even if the mistakes had lethal consequences, the fact that this was a partnership was the only real thing that kept this thing going, kept these two alive.

 

Gilbert was keenly aware that the only reason he was still breathing was because his brother had intervened.

 

It was no secret his brother was stronger, was faster. He could perform some of his Signs with ease, and his body was able to tolerate more. Gilbert knew this, had always known this. And yet, there was a bitter taste in his mouth, one that wasn’t just remains of the blood that had been in there earlier.

 

As an older sibling, he did truly want to protect his younger one. And as a Witcher, he desperately wanted to protect people in general.

 

Eventually, Vincent spoke, a quiet thing that somehow held more force than the Leshen they had faced only hours before. “It could have killed you, Gilbert,” he whispered hauntingly, his voice trembling with various emotions: rage, regret, passion, fear…

 

“It could have killed you,” Vincent repeated. “If I had known that, I would have never taken on that contract.”

 

“Hey,” Gilbert began, gently. He knew it was no consolation, but there was nothing to be gained from wondering about what could have happened. There were hundreds and thousands of possibilities of what could have happened in this world, and if Vincent started now he would spiral, as he had done a hundred times before. The events that happened prior still stung on Gilbert’s body and clearly on Vincent’s mind, but there was no need to brood over it.

 

“It’s true. If I had known that could happen, I would have told them to go fuck themselves.”

 

“That’s unprofessional,” Gilbert quipped. Vincent didn’t take the bait, and he didn’t cheer up. A few feet away, Raven nickered in his sleep.

 

Then, even quieter, as if he knew his older sibling would scold him for speaking in such a way, Vincent whispered, “If I had known that could happen, I never would have gotten on the Path.”

 

“ _Hey!”_ Gilbert snapped, significantly louder than necessary. His brother flinched, and he knew the noise might have awoken one of the horses, but he doubted any other animals would be attracted to the noise due to the crackling campfire. Gilbert turned his head around, looking down at the frame curled around him. Vincent’s hair fell all around his face like a blanket of snow, completely veiling his expression like a maiden on her wedding day. In the light of the fire, it colored the colorless locks a beautiful blond, just as it had when the boy had been born. 

 

“I never want to hear you say that again. Do you hear me?” Gilbert scolded, softer in volume but not lacking the disciplinary tone. When he used this tone he knew he sounded a bit like Oswald at times, and he hoped that would really get through to his brother.

 

Vincent didn’t respond to that verbally, but Gilbert could hear and feel his breathing on his body- it was faster than normal. Worried about being scolded still, not unlike a child. They could live forever, until the world was nothing but ash and the monsters their only company, and Vincent would still fear his brother getting upset with him for something.

 

After some time of merely listening to his brother’s breath and the crackling of the fire, Gilbert sighed, lowering his voice back to the softer tone it once was. It didn’t ease the younger one’s breathing at all. “What are we, Vincent?” he sighed to his brother, quiet enough that normal ears would never be able to pick up the sound.

 

Vincent shifted, his hair falling a bit so that Gilbert could see a red eye peering up at him. He watched the pupil, which was fully dilated when he was properly hiding his face, adjust to the light of the campfire, adjust to Gilbert’s pale face, adjust to the moon shining above them. The area around the wine stained eye was wet, but the older sibling made no comment on it. Vincent didn’t bother to answer, but after a moment of simply looking at each other, he shrugged and mumbled, humoring him, “We’re Witchers, Gilbert.”

 

“And what do we do?”

 

“We…...” Vincent sighed, closing his eyes so tightly that the corners squinted. His hands, which had been resting at his sides and around Gilbert’s body, finally came up to brush Gilbert’s back, the opposite end of the injury. His fingers felt the bandages, the gauze, the tape, moving delicately, like a spider gliding on water, as if he could injure his brother any more ( _but he couldn’t, because Gilbert’s body felt nothing but a dull, numb sensation,_ _due to_ _the Potion that had been force fed to him after he couldn’t stop howling in agony_ ). Vincent took some time again to speak, seeming to have some sort of internal war going on and losing every battle. “We kill monsters, Gilbert. We hunt them. For money.”

 

“That’s right. And we got a lot of coin for that, enough to keep us comfortable through the winter.  Enough to afford food and lodging so we can stay not too far from the road. We might even be able to do work this winter.” Gilbert paused for a response, but Vincent didn’t seem like he wanted to see the bright side of the situation. He seemed content moping over lost blood, skin, and meat. But Gilbert would heal. He would heal faster than a human, and with Vincent at his side, they could continue life.  N othing could block their Path.

 

“So even though I got hurt this time, we just have to keep going. We’ll keep doing this. There’s no backing out, this wasn’t our decision. Destiny decided a long time before we were born that this was what we would do.”

 

Vincent curled his body around Gilbert tighter, clearly not liking what the older sibling had to say. His legs were wound together, as if attempting to comfort himself. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his boots for the night.

 

“So we’ll keep killing monsters, Vincent. And we’ll keep getting money. Until the end of time.”

 

“And what happens if-” Vincent’s voice began to raise, as if saying these words were physically painful. “-if you get too hurt? Or die?”

 

“Then you’ll keep killing monsters without me.”

 

“What if I died, instead?”

 

“Then I’d keep killing monsters without you.”

 

“And what if, at the end of all this, and we’re still together-” Vincent stretched out his hand on Gilbert’s bandages, laying the palm flat on his back, his red eye opening again to look at him- the slim, inhuman pupil adjusting once again. “- What happens when we run out of monsters?”

 

Gilbert scoffed, “There will always be monsters.”


	2. A Contract (Part One)

A Contract

 

I

 

Dawn finally broke at the sound of hooves, the twin riders keeping an easy trot on the marked path as the day slowly began to awaken the world. Early morning birds began to sing, the night terrors began to retreat into their dens, and somewhere, in the distance, a cock called out, symbolizing civilization.

 

The riders in question were siblings; brothers, to be exact. Both upon horses, one black as the night and lacking a single marking, the other brown and white, marked on its back. The riders, dressed in leathers and adorned with medallions resembling a large bird, were hardly tired despite the fact that they had been riding for hours before daybreak. Upon hearing the cocks call, Gilbert, the eldest, asked:

 

“Civilization, up ahead. Small settlement, farming village most likely. Want to stop, Vince?”

 

The younger sibling, who had received more sleep than the older one and still somehow managed to be more tired, yawned, and then at the end of the long yawn nodded and responded, regaining his voice properly with a squeak. “I’d love to grab a drink. How much longer do we have?”

 

Gilbert passed the reigns of the horse into only one hand before reaching into the pocket on his trousers, pulling out a folded parchment. With one hand he unfolded it and skimmed the contents, before responding, “The Vessalius’ letter says it won’t be much farther than this. Pass this town, and maybe a day and a half’s ride. We’re getting close, Vince, don’t be impatient.”

 

“I’m not impatient,” Vincent shot back at his brother, a smile on his handsome face. “but I am curious. How many Witchers get _summons_ for a contract? By a nobleman, no less?”

 

Gilbert couldn’t help but be curious about the topic as well. It was relatively unheard of, but the week before the two had been approached by a courier bearing a sealed letter: a summons, by Lord Zai Vessalius, to solve a contract for him. The letter gave no details on the type of contract, or what the two would be up against, but did contain the promise of good payment for the contract. They were to meet the Lord Vessalius in his manor and to discuss the details properly.

 

There were many baffling things about this situation. For one: Witchers usually didn’t get “special ordered” to do tasks, especially by people that they had never worked with before. Both brothers had never heard of this Zai Vessalius before receiving the letter, and Vincent had to ask around to learn if he even was a real person and not some fake persona who happened to obtain some wax and the stamp of a griffon. Neither brother was sure how this man had even heard of the duo before.

 

_“Maybe just word of mouth?”_ Vincent had suggested when they first went over the letter together, the week before, and were mulling over what it could have meant.  _“We are an unusual case. Witchers don’t travel in pairs.”_

 

This, of course, was true. Witchers were usually lone wolves, working solo but not hostile to other Witchers encountered on the Path. It was a dying breed, so spreading out to make a living was usually the better option, and a lot of Witchers just preferred to be alone. Not to mention the added complication of them being blood siblings… when Witchers were snatched away as children and never knew their parents.

 

There was a good chance that this was how they had gained a bit of reputation for themselves:  the Crow Brothers, or something of that nature, could be their rumored nickname. But as far as Witchers went, the two were still relatively fresh, not having even been properly working for a decade yet. They were still considered young things barely out of the guidance of their mentor, Oswald. 

 

Another baffling thing about the entire situation was the actual summons. Witchers usually went from town to town, area to area, looking to see if any contracts were posted up on a message board or just killing monsters in the area and asking whoever was in charge how much they would pay to have it taken care of. The duo had never been trained to receive special ordered contracts, and quite frankly didn’t know what to make of it. When they had been approached by the courier, they thought it was a demands to leave the surrounding area and to never return because of  _disturbing the peace_ , not a job offer. 

 

The letter detailed that the job might take a bit of time, and extra charges may even be added to the final price if it was too dangerous. Gilbert was a bit skeptical if it was even real, but Vincent had been excited by the opportunity, insisting that the two should at least check it out.

 

_“If it’s untrue,”_ Vincent had said that day, raising a slim finger at his brother.  _“and we are ambushed, then we just light everyone up, take their money, and never come back to this area. Alright? It would be their own fault, messing with Witchers.”_

 

Gilbert had grimaced at the idea, but he knew where the other was coming from, at least. The two had it rough with how the general public treated Witchers. In general, they were considered inhuman abominations, leeching off of people’s sorrow and misfortune, guilty of stealing babes and their appetite for bloodshed and lust. But the siblings seemed to face the judgment even more so, and it made it hard to find work.

 

Gilbert looked normal at a glance, albeit a bit tall and pale. His hair was ink black, decorated in ringlets and waves around his face, and no matter how hard he tried to pin it back it would simply fall out of place in a curly mess. He was taller than the average man,  _(and more handsome, but he would never see that himself)_ and dressed well in his protective leathers and boots all completely colored black, save for the silver medallion around his neck. But then, if someone looked a bit harder, they’d see his eyes, and know for a fact that he was definitely… inhuman.

 

Witchers had “cat eyes”, as they were affectionately called, and Gilbert’s pale skin and dark hair certainly showed them off. His eyes, a striking golden, practically glowed in the dark in contrast, like twin lanterns held by a white ghost; and the pupils, dark as night, were slits in the day. They dilated in the night, or when he was focused in, or when he had ingested a strong poison; and could dilate immensely, completely covering his eyes so only a small ring of iris showed, not unlike a cat.

 

Ironic, because Gilbert actually  _hated_ cats. He also hated the comparison.

 

But Gilbert could walk into a town and not immediately frighten the good folk who lived there. ‘ _Oh!’_ they would think if they glanced at him, tall and fit with two swords on his back,  _‘a bodyguard or a mercenary for hire passing through! Good on him!’_ But if they looked longer at his face, and saw the way he moved without a trace, making no sounds and leaving no footsteps, effortlessly, like a dark phantom, and the way the dogs barked at him and the cats fur would stand on end if he came to close- if they saw past his beauty and noticed that eerie quality  of his, then they would know that this would be the Witchman- the Witcher- the bounty hunter here to deal with those humans are not strong enough to deal with.

 

Vincent, though, barely even had that luxury.

 

For starters, Vincent was (arguably) even more beautiful than his brother. This was usually because of his soft smile, which made him look more approachable than Gilbert, who would scowl and spit out tobacco when one passed, looking completely lost in thought. Vincent could feign kindness and grace even when he was nothing of the sort. He had the manners of a nobleman in the body of a killing machine.

 

Due to extra mutations, Vincent’s hair- long, feathery, and softer than anything- was stark white. Going through more trials and ingesting more and more poisons to push his body to the complete limit had changed his hair- which Gilbert remembered was a beautiful golden color-; changed it so that all of the color completely drained out, and it was left the color of snow. Vincent was just as pale as his brother was, but the white hair made him stand out and seem even paler.

 

However, a relatively worthy sacrifice, for Vincent could run faster, strike harder, and Sign better than any Witcher Gilbert knew. What he lacked in experience he made up for in pure, raw power. Sure, Gilbert could shoot a crossbow and almost never miss, and could use fire Signs more efficiently than his brother could, but Vincent, if serious enough, could charge into battle like a hurricane, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

 

Vincent was a bit shorter than his brother, a bit softer in his build (despite being technically stronger), though he had broader shoulders and actually knew a variety of colors to wear other than black. The medallion around his neck was completely identical, along with some features of their faces: their nose s, their almond shaped eyes, their long lashes, their jawline. If one wasn’t distracted by the hair and the  day and night contrast, one could almost immediately tell they were siblings. 

 

Vincent’s eyes were even more startling than his brothers. On top of having his own pair of cat eyes, which were even more sensitive to the light and could see better in the dark, he was heterochromatic. One eye the same golden shade as his hair once was, the other eye the color of blood.

 

_“Look at that!”_ Old man Levi had once said, the man who had been Oswald’s mentor. Vincent had to have been six at the time when Levi swept down in a single motion, grabbing Vincent’s chin.  _“It’s an omen. You can tell he was destined to be a Witcher. Blood in his eye since birth.”_

 

~~Vincent had not mourned Levi’s death, when it finally came.~~

 

Even at a glance, everything about Vincent radiated death, the inhuman, and what he was. He couldn’t avoid it, no matter how charming he was, how kindly he smiled, how well he knew his manners. Everyone knew what he was. He couldn’t hide it. Some peasants just lowered their eyes and hurried their pace to avoid him; others threw stones and screamed that he wasn’t welcome.

 

Thankfully, Vincent didn’t let this effect his work too much. He knew if he did, it would effect Gilbert’s work as well, and Vincent definitely didn’t want to be a burden on his older brother; the only person he really had.

 

II

 

Eventually, the town came into proper view. A few wooden homes, possibly a tavern, some farmlands, maybe a local craftsman that helped keep the roofs from leaking. The brothers could see cows, geese, chickens, and people, working early in the fields. The early morning made even a town like this look idealistic and beautiful.

 

“I’m starving, Brother,” Vincent whined, slumping his shoulders but continuing to ride at the perfect pace. Dormouse did not stop for his master’s mood swings. “We must stop here to eat. We still have money, yes?”

 

Gilbert had been fine with the idea of stopping for maybe a drink, but at the sound of buying food, he frowned, tearing his eyes off the road to narrow them at Vincent. “We can hunt our own food, no need to spend more money. No point in staying longer than we need to.”

 

“I’m sick of venison and rabbit, Gilbert, even as well as you cook it. I want eggs, milk, and cheese!”

 

Gilbert barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. For a sibling that was supposedly a single year under him, he acted like he was a baby at times. Gilbert didn’t want to delay the trip any longer and he knew for a fact that if they didn’t get to the Vessalius manor in the time that he had predicted earlier, Vincent would complain. Making stops was completely unnecessary, especially since if the offer for the contract was legitimate, the two of them would probably be treated to a lovely meal.

 

As far as currency went, they still had a bit of money, but Gilbert was in charge of spending it- that was the agreement. Vincent would haggle for prices, Gilbert would control the spending of it. And Gilbert still had a decent amount left over, even after the winter had passed. Most of it was from the Leshen contract, but he didn’t like to mention that to his brother- even the slightest mention of the job that almost went wrong would spiral his mood into negativity.

 

Though, it wasn’t just Vincent. Even Gilbert, sometimes, felt a twinge of pain in his abdomen despite being completely healed when looking into his coin-purse. The memory of his brother pressing his hands tight to where claws had gored him and crows had pecked at the meat inside, attempting to stop any sort of bleeding and failing horribly, tears nearly blinding him as he blubbered and whimpered-- the memory bothered Gilbert as much as it did Vincent, but even if it was unspoken, he had to remain sturdy and unchanged for his sibling.

 

“Alright,” Gilbert eventually gave in to the whims of his younger sibling. “just for a bit. But while we are here, if you insist on wasting time with beer and cheese, we might as well see if anyone has any work for us. A quick job. We still have a ways to go before we hit the Vessalius manor.”

 

Vincent beamed, sitting up straight when he realized he had gotten his way and blew a kiss at his older brother. “You’re a darling, Gil!” he swooned, before physically commanding his horse to move a bit quicker. Dormouse obliged, beginning to trot faster, kicking up a bit of dust. “I love you more than life itself! Now, let’s hurry already!”

 

 

III

 

“… and so, if you’ve noticed anything unusual that’s been bothering the good people here, that’s what we’re here to take care of….” Vincent explained in a kind, patient tone, to the elderly alderman, sipping on his beer and sitting up properly. The tavern was relatively quiet despite how many people were inside, all hushed because they wanted to hear what the two strangers had to say. The woman behind the counter was pretending she was busy even when she wasn’t, the men playing cards had barely continued their game because they were too preoccupied attempting to eavesdrop, the elderly man having his breakfast dropped his act and just listened with an open glare and distaste on his face, and the girl who was assisting the tavern was blatantly staring at the two brothers, wide eyed in awe.

 

Gilbert leaned back, trying not to glare at anyone himself, sipping on milk. The food did feel good, Vincent was right to suggest it. Gilbert wasn’t a shabby cook and the two could hunt and make meals together, but every now and then having a break with proper food from a farm felt wonderful. He couldn’t recall the last time he ate eggs, and he had gobbled them down like a wolf before he could control himself. The woman behind the counter offered to make him more, but he declined, feeling like a pig already.

 

“…. corpse eaters, ghosts, nasty spirits, anything abnormal can be easily taken care of, so long as a fee is provided- we have to eat, too, my good sir...”

 

Vincent was much better at handling the negotiations than Gilbert was. If the people were not immediately bothered by his appearance, and could look past his monstrous energy and see that he was a professional, the transaction always went completely smooth when Vincent had the reigns. Gilbert wasn’t as good at handling the terms of conditions, so he got to sit back and tune in and out of the conversation. He glanced out the window of the tavern when he heard a goose honk. People were staring at the horses and whispering outside.

 

After a good long while of listening to Vincent explain what he did for a living, the alderman stroked his white beard and went “Ahhh!”. There was then a pause so long that Gilbert thought the man was done speaking, and considered getting up and leaving, but he eventually added on: “We actually do have a problem here, now that I think about it, aye.”

 

“Oh? Do tell, my good sir.” Vincent responded coolly, one elbow on the table and his chin resting in his hand. His fingers tapped against his own soft cheek.

 

“There are beasts in the lake nearby. One goes searching for toads or small fish, or tries to take a bath, and if you end up more than ankle deep then-- oop! You’ll be grabbed, lose your balance, and fall right in the water, only to be dragged into the lake. We’ve lost a few people to that, you know, aye.”

 

Vincent nodded his head, listening to this, before turning to his brother to see if he had any comments. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. “Drowners, sounds like,” he responded. “should be an easy kill. Lake drowners, so no real surprises. Do you know how many there are, alderman?”

 

The alderman groaned when he leaned back in his chair, putting his hands up. “Never seen them myself,” he confessed. “only the corpses.”

 

Vincent turned back to the alderman, still all friendly tones. “Are the corpses available to examine?” The alderman shook his head. Vincent shrugged his shoulders, a mimic of his older sibling. “That’s fine, it’s probably drowners. We can take a look for you. They should be gone by this evening, if we find your problem.”

 

The alderman looked absolutely astonished, as if he had never thought this issue that took him so long to recall would be solved. “Ah, gods be praised!” he sang, clasping his hands together and smiling, revealing his missing teeth. “Praise be to the gods, and praise be to the witchmen. We feared the monsters would grab our children.”

 

The other people in the tavern seemed even more interested now, particularly the young girl. She had a pitcher in hand, clearly meaning to refill Vincent’s beer, but was standing a few feet away, clutching it until her knuckles were white, her eyes white and her mouth open as if she meant to speak up. Gilbert raised an eyebrow but made no comment, nor made proper eye contact; she wasn’t looking at him at all anymore, purely focused on Vincent.

 

Vincent smiled wider, his eyes closing in mirth. “I’m glad we can help out your problem, my good sir,” he chimed in, finishing off the rest of his eggs and cheese and leaving nothing but an empty plate. “it’s a good thing my partner and I decided to stop by. I would certainly never want anything to happen to the children.”

 

The alderman signaled the young girl to refill Vincent’s beer, explaining to her that he would cover the cost of the drink and meal. Gilbert dully wondered if that cost was coming out of their payment money. Drowners were barely worth anything, but for a small farming village like this, they probably relied on the lake for water for their animals and maybe even for small amounts of fishing. They were far from the ocean, and it was probably the only real thing of water for a long while. Plus, the lake wasn’t too far from the town, and knowledge of monsters near your home was definitely disconcerting. It would earn them only a few coins, but it wouldn’t take them long at all, so easy trade off.

 

After the refill had been handled, and the wide-eyed girl backed away from the table at the signal of the woman behind the counter. Vincent clasped his hands together, folding them on the table, still smiling a close-eyed smile. “Now,” he began. “let’s discuss our payment.”


	3. A Contract (Part Two)

A Contract

 

IV

 

During the winter, the brothers had moved as far from the ocean as their horses could carry them, while also staying away from the forests per Vincent’s request. This led to them staying in a small town for most of the winter, renting a room in the rolling hills. While said hills covered themselves with snow, and Gilbert rested his injury off, Vincent would go out during the night, hunting whatever he could find before he felt like he would freeze and returning to the inn they stayed at. They had enough coin to stay for the entire snowy season in one location, even though it was not technically their preference. The couple who had ran the inn didn’t care that they were Witchers, having had their town saved by a Witcher years before, which resulted in them being totally welcoming.

 

If Vincent hadn’t been so concerned about his brother, he would have taken time to appreciate it more, but alas, fear was something powerful that kept him anxious and on his toes. The only reason he bothered to leave his brother’s side to hunt and not eat provided food every night was because it was Gilbert’s request. “ _You’re smothering me,_ ” Gilbert would groan, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. _“Leave your older brother be.”_

 

This focus in staying as far from the ocean as possible led to them traveling in territories they usually didn’t bother too much with. Witchers went everywhere because monsters were everywhere, but softly rolling hills and pleasant plateaus were less likely to house horrors than beaches with dark waters, the mountains, or the forests. After the nasty business with the Leshen, Vincent preferred to stick with the main roads, at least for a while.

 

The Vessalius manor wasn’t horrendously far, and apparently it was a relatively pleasant place with a lovely garden. Vincent had wanted to perhaps purchase better looking ( ~~ better smelling ~~ ) clothes before going to meet the noblemen, as these outfits were getting dreadfully dull due to over-wearing them, but he doubted they’d find a town to stop in that would tailor high quality court clothes for him and his brother. 

 

The entire situation was…  very curious to him. No monster details were described in the letter sent, which wasn’t horrendously unusual, but it made Vincent… question things. Question if this was an ambush, or a waste of time, or if the enemy was something that could hijack the letter and read it. Something with intelligence was always scarier than something with no intelligence, Vincent felt, and figured any Witcher with some sense would agree. 

 

Witchers were not  _supposed_ to get involved in political affairs, and Gilbert did his part in making sure that the two avoided them like the plague. Gilbert was so atrociously ignorant with the politics in the world it was astounding. Willfully ignorant, too; he didn’t want to know, he didn’t care. Unless some sort of policy came involving their work it didn’t exist to him. And Vincent liked the idea to an extent, but the court life… intrigued him. 

 

He wanted to go to parties and do scandalous things in the shadows, things that would make his brother blush if he knew. He wanted to present himself to the emperor and talk to dinner guests like an equal, making civil, proper talks about wine and vacation homes. Vincent knew his manners. Vincent knew how to have grace and how to talk like a noble.

 

Vincent also knew if he didn’t look the way he did, he could get away with it. But because of his face, everyone knew what he was.

 

Because of his damn face…

 

 

V

 

“I spoke to the victims’ families,” Vincent announced, adjusting his gloves to fit on properly despite his sweating hands. Gilbert didn’t bother turning to him when he approached, but he did spit out the tobacco he was chewing. It wasn’t a glamorous habit, but he found it enticing when his brother did it. “and judging by the remains- or lack thereof-, and circumstances, it was definitely Drowners. Eight, max.”

 

Gilbert pondered the information for a second, rubbing his own gloved hands together. He was leaning on the wall outside of the tavern, close to where the horses were tied up. Gilbert wasn’t quite good with talking to the victims, the families of the victims, or the person offering the contract, or making deductions about times of attack, or predicting the amount of enemies….

 

But Gilbert  _was_ good at being the best brother Vincent could ever ask for, and honestly, that was all he needed. 

 

“You want to head out now?” Gilbert eventually  asked , glancing up at the sky to  figure out the time. It was still morning,  a few hours before midday;  the sun wasn’t blazing but it was shining kindly, a few clouds in the sky to make the air a bit cooler despite the weather being a little humid . The ride to the lake was nothing at all- they could walk there, honestly, as there were no hills blocking the path to it. Just a few trees surrounding the area in the distance, and in the center would be a lake- they could follow the path for a bit and then veer to the right a little to get to where they needed to go, then come back. All in a days work.

 

When Vincent relayed this information to Gilbert, he frowned, scrunching up his nose. “We’ll want some form of proof, though, and I’d rather not carry a stinking Drowner corpse on me. They’re putrid. We can take Raven together, and tie one to him, drag him back here.”

 

Gilbert was also good at seeing things like that- things Vincent would have normally miscalculated. Vincent smiled fondly, a teasing tone worming its way into his voice as he sang: “I can sit behind you, yes?”

 

“You just want to do absolutely nothing on the way there.”  


“Guilty as charged. I’m still a bit sleepy.”

 

“You-- You have no business being tired still! You slept a whole four hours more than I did!”

 

Vincent giggled, already making his way to untie Gilbert’s horse. Gilbert named it Raven because of  _course_ he had, and it was an entirely black horse because of  _course_ it was. His brother was so entirely predictable that it was the nicest thing in the entire universe. The sun would rise in the morning, there would always be monsters to kill, and Gilbert would always be… well, his Gilbert, the one he always knew and loved.

 

The only thing he always knew and loved, the only thing he could truly count on.

 

Gilbert climbed on his horse, and Vincent got on behind him, softly snaking his arms around his brother’s midsection. It was healing incredibly, he knew even without being able to feel or see the skin underneath the leathers. All that would be there would be a nasty scar- something Vincent wouldn’t want to look at, but he knew it was better than the alternative. He also knew better than to speak on it, lest he earn another lecture from his brother on the topic- one of the hundreds, maybe thousands he had received.

 

But honestly, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

Raven began to move with the two of them fastened on properly. Dormouse- Vincent’s own horse- was asleep at his post, and that was definitely fine. He highly doubted anyone from the tiny town would try and take his horse from under his nose. They would probably think that it would be some sort of supernatural horse, some sort of special “ _Witchman Horse_ ”. But alas, Dormouse was totally normal, even a little underwhelming of a steed. He figured after this one died off, he would get a female. Name it Demios, keeping up with the “D” first name trend--

 

“Pardon? Witchmen?”

 

The tavern door creaked to a very slow, soft close as footsteps began to follow them on the dirt path. Gilbert didn’t slow or stop Raven despite definitely having heard, so Vincent unsnaked one arm, pinching his shoulder in a silent command to stop for a second. Gilbert hissed but obliged, and Vincent turned his head, seeing the slim barmaid from the tavern. She was wringing her apron nervously, and Vincent only spoke when Raven finally came to a proper stop, despite the fact that he did not remove himself from his brother’s back, or get off the horse.

 

“Yes? What is it, dear?” Vincent never corrected people on the title “Witchman” and how it was a horrible and outdated term. Witchers were not sorcerers. They could perform Signs, but barely any noteworthy magic. Witchman was a near derogatory slur by this day and age, but there was no point in telling this to peasants who were nervous at the mere sight of one. The way he looked and what he was would always dominate conversations, but he might as well play the part of a friendly gentleman, even when he wasn’t exactly that.

 

“Y’see, sirs, about-- about the monsters--” the girl was stammering, but this got Gilbert to turn his head.  He looked on at her blankly,  pupils nothing but slits, which seemed to intimidate her even more. But Gilbert was much kinder than his younger sibling, despite not always looking so, and would be willing to hear her out,  ignoring his naturally boorish nature. 

 

“Yes?” Gilbert asked. The girl gulped. Vincent could hear it- a human couldn’t, not at that distance, but he could. He could also see the way her neck moved, her jaw, her mouth… she was a fairly pretty thing, skinny and a brunette, coming into her adulthood.

 

“I’ve seen them. With my own eyes. Went bathing in the river in the moonlight-- I like to do that sometimes,” she blushed here, like this was something embarrassing to share, or as if she was trying to impress the two men by mentioning she bathed, “and when I had my back turned, I heard something-- something comin’ out of the water. And I saw ‘er.”

 

“What did it look like?” Gilbert asked before Vincent could, his voice low. He turned the horse around to face her so they weren’t craning their necks, but he still didn’t get off the horse, so neither did Vincent. “Fish eyes, gray-blue skin? Smells like rot?”

 

“Y-Yes, but… ‘er… um… ‘t’was a woman, sirs. A n ugly woman,  naked and horrible, claws as long as my hand is wide.” she choked out, raising her hand for emphasis. 

 

Both brothers fell completely silent, thinking the same thing and knowing for a fact that the other was thinking the same thing. Drowners typically had no discernible gender, as they were not human and had no real relation to humans, so for the girl to mention that it was a woman- a naked woman-, meant something else that the two did not expect. Both glanced at each other, locked eyes, before getting off of the horse to interrogate the girl. Gilbert held on to the reigns of Raven, who snorted.

 

“A woman? You’re sure you didn’t dream her?” Vincent asked gently, knowing it was entirely possible the girl had some form of nightmare and the event didn’t happen. But she firmly shook her head, looking gravely serious.

 

“Then how did you get away from it?”

 

“I--” she stammered, her face flushing at the questions. Vincent knew this would be a tiresome interview in his heart. “I, well, I screamed, y’see, and she screamed back at me! She howled, like somethin’ terrible, and I was so afraid, I thought I would die then. Her teeth… her teeth were horrid, sir...” she began to shake, her eyes welling up with tears at the memory.

 

“Woah--” Gilbert stepped forward,  voice gentle, raising his free hand in a gesture in attempt to calm the girl.  _How kind,_ Vincent thought distantly, who hadn’t even thought to offer any sort of comfort. “Easy, there. It’s alright. We’ll take care of it. We just need to know more about this.” 

 

The girl began wiping at her face as a few tears fell, sniffling loudly. This took a short moment, the two Witcher siblings standing patiently as the witness cleaned her face. When she finished, she took a shaky breath and began to talk again. “… I didn’t want to turn from her, I was so scared of losin’ sight of ‘er. So I jus’… backed up, but I tripped and fell. My head ducked under water, and I saw ‘er swipin’ at me, tryin’ to get me, and she missed me! So… I held my breath, and scrambled with my feet, moving back as far as I could away.

 

But I swear, sirs, she moved in the water ‘bout as fast as you and I move on land! She was walking towards me, I watched ‘er feet move under the wa’er with me, us kickin’ up dirt. I wanted to scream but I was underwater, but she never came down with me, never ducked in. I used my hands to try and claw away--”

 

“Under water? You did this?” Vincent questioned, folding his arms over his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the story, it was just that he was amazed at the clarity of the girls actions despite being scared out of her mind. Young girls coming face to face with lake monsters usually didn’t end well, usually because of panic. “How did you do it? Can you demonstrate?”

 

The girl nodded and obeyed the question, showing a sort of squatted, awkward, backwards crab-walk that involved kicking the legs to move and scrambling with the hands to pick up speed. The effect was lost in an flat, dirt road, but the brothers were able to understand the effect she had created. She explained that afterwards, she had managed to scramble out of the lake, and when she was out of the water she turned and ran. She hadn’t noticed if the monster had followed her out, and when she made it home, she locked herself in, and didn’t tell a soul.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Gilbert asked, using his free hand now to brush Raven’s nose. “I’m sure with your testimony, the villagers here would have sought out a proper bounty for the creature sooner. We only happened to be passing by today; this could have become a real problem.”

 

The girl looked down, going back to wringing her apron. The question seemed to pull some sort of shame out of her, and she bit her lip, face flushing horrendously. She was a pale little thing, and the red coloring always showed on her skin clearly. “It’s, um,” she struggled to get out. Vincent wondered if the answer to the question was relevant at all to the actual job and wanted to tell her that they didn’t need this answer at all. But that would be… needlessly rude. “I wasn’t supposed to be there, y’see, so...”

 

Gilbert nodded his head. It looked like he wanted to push the subject, but thankfully didn’t. The investigation on that was over, so all that remained was more details on the actual subject; Vincent took over the conversation again, speaking up.

 

“Can you tell me more about what this beast looked like? Woman, long claws, I presume sharp teeth. I know you were frightened, but it helps if we know more.”

 

The girl wiped at her face again, sniffling snot back into her nose, and then cleared her throat. “She was… as you said earlier. Looked like a cadaver. Smelled like fish and shit, fish shit. Big, big eyes, glowin’ like the moon itself. Tall, too, ‘bout as tall as you, sir,” she gestured to Gilbert when she said this, “much taller than I. ‘er tits were low, ‘er body built like a toad, and… and that’s all I remember. I wish I could help more.”

 

“That’ll be fine, you already helped enough, dear girl.” Vincent comforted emptily. It _was_ enough, though, having an idea of what the creature could be, and he glanced back at his brother for confirmation. Gilbert gave a short, curt nod. “It’ll be dealt with. However, we’ll need more if we’re to deal with this as well, more than the original agreement.”

 

“Vince-!” Gilbert started, sounding upset and offended. He was interrupted by the girl speaking up.

 

“I can- I can add some of my savings to your reward, sir! I don’t have much,” she lowered her head, “and I had been savin’ to buy a new dress, but… it’s all I can offer. Thirty gold.”

 

“That’s fine,” Vincent spoke quickly, not giving his older brother time to properly interject. Beside him, Gilbert huffed, fuming. “you can save up again to buy a new dress when the monster is taken care of. Might take a while, but it’s better than being dead, is it not?”

 

 

VI

 

“What the _fuck_ was that, Vincent?!” Gilbert finally snapped, having been waiting for the opportunity to do so for a while now. Vincent sat perched behind him, arms around his midsection and cheek against his back, riding on the way to the lake at a very slow trot. Flies were buzzing around and he could smell the water and the faint smell of rot, even at the distance they were. “Taking money from a young girl? A _child_?”

 

“She was hardly a child,” Vincent grumbled, rolling his eyes back where his brother wouldn’t be able to see them. It was getting warmer in the day; his white hair reflected the sun, but his dark leathers made his body feel a bit hot. With a bit of unintentional malice, he added, “she was young, and she didn’t have any tits, yes, but she wasn’t a child. And she was no stranger to adult ways, the way she looked at us.”

 

“ _Vincent_!” Gilbert was easily offended by crude remarks. Vincent couldn’t see his face, but he was probably blushing up to his ears.

 

Vincent tried covering his tracks a little by getting back to the heart of the problem. “We need to get paid for our work, Gilbert. I don’t care if the person hiring us is two years old- if they have the coin, we’ll take it for the job. We shouldn’t work for free. I don’t care about exposure, I care about money.”

 

“We’re _Witchers_ , Vincent!” Gilbert said this as if it changed absolutely anything. “If we don’t take care of this situation, it’ll escalate and more people will die. We could at least help them.”

 

His brother was so pure-hearted. And unfortunately, so naive. “That’s a nice sentiment,” Vincent began, trying to say something kind in the conversation to ease the tension. “but it will get us nowhere. We are helping them but we need to get paid for our work. Twenty gold is nothing, but thirty added onto it makes it a bit more reasonable for eight Drowners and a Water Hag.”

 

Gilbert fell quiet there. Both had come to the realization earlier that the girl described the monster almost perfectly accurate to a Water Hag, which was much more dangerous than a simple Drowner to deal with. Drowners were dangerous to peasants, but even with torches and pitch forks they could do something about them. Water Hags were scary, with razor sharp teeth and sickle-like claws. They could slash a person to pieces very quickly, drown them with brute force, and it was dangerous to deal with them. Both brothers were trained professionals, but it made this quick job feel a lot longer than it was supposed to.

 

The proper price for a Water Hag alone would go around one hundred and fifty coins, anyhow. Two hundred for a particularly strong one. Two hundred and fifty for travel. Fifty gold for a Water Hag and eight Drowners? Vincent _was_ being generous, he should have demanded more, or simply refused.

 

Attempting to make a bit more pleasant conversation, Vincent spoke up, much softer this time, “You know, I still remember the passage on Water Hags in that horribly dull tome Oswald used to make us read. I remember it by heart, the way he would make me recite things because I’d sneak to the kitchens and steal sweets.”

 

Gilbert chuckled, and Vincent could feel it through his back. It felt nice. “Oswald was too fair on you,” he said, and Vincent could hear the smile in his voice. It made him smile, too. “I remember you taking Miss Lottie’s clothing as she was bathing, and Oswald made you stand out practicing front flips and back flips all night, in the rain, on the stands. All _night_! While he watched!”

 

Vincent grimaced at the memory. “I still hate doing those things. And if I recall correctly, he adored _you_. He looked at you as if you were his son.”

 

Gilbert chuckled, clearly in a much better mood due to thoughts of their old mentor, Oswald. Oswald had been a gloomy man, but a good Witcher and a good teacher. He had often pretended to not have favorites but his favoritism for Gilbert was striking, and everyone in the entire castle had been able to see it, Witcher or not. The brothers hadn’t seen him in quite some time, since they got on the Path, but they still thought of him fondly.

 

The two rode together in silence for the rest of the way. Gilbert made the wise and experienced decision to stop Raven outside of the area of the trees- trees that covered the entire vicinity of the lake, shielding it away from the road. Only those with good eyes could peek through and see that there was water there, but anyone could hear the frogs. Seemed that this was somewhere in between a lake and a swamp; clean enough to bathe in, but murky enough to attract all sorts of… undesirable creatures.

 

Both brothers dismounted. Vincent removed his silver sword from its sheath and quieted Raven with a Sign to keep him calm. Gilbert took out his crossbow and began to load it- an unorthodox thing for a Witcher to carry, but Gilbert was a damn good shot. He was wonderful with various bows, longbows and short-bows included. It was impractical, though, to carry them around with him _as_ _well_ as two swords. The crossbow was more portable and easier to keep on him. Vincent thought Gilbert looked more _elegant_ with the longbow and short-bow, though.

 

The plan was unspoken, but known. Gilbert would wait by the trees and Vincent would wade in the shallow areas of the water, slicing the monsters up close. If things got nasty of if the Water Hag got a surprise on Vincent, Gilbert could jump in and light her up with a Sign, and they could take her down together. The Drowners would be a walk in the park, but Vincent expected a bit of a struggle with the Hag. Unfortunately, it was possible that she might not even come out until night, as they were typically nocturnal creatures, and they might have to wait it out.

 

Both brothers made their way through the wooded area, their medallions twitching due to them closing in on the vicinity of monsters. There was a small slope in the landscape leading to the lake, and Vincent could smell the rot even stronger. Drowners typically smelled of human decay, but this had nothing to do with what they were. They weren’t even remotely human. They were pack animals, with gaping mouths and stupid fish eyes, that dragged people in the water and ate them.

 

Gilbert stood at the edge of the wood when the trees began to spread out more, preparing himself. Vincent could see small bubbling forming in various parts of the lake, indicating something underneath the surface was getting close, and was probably getting hungry. Perfect timing.

 

Vincent entered the water.

 

He made it halfway to his knees before he could hear them approaching. The Drowners, who were spread out in various parts of the lake, all swimming rapidly to his location. His grip tightened on his sword and he touched the edge of it to the tip of the water, tracing small circles on the surface around him.

 

It had the desired effect. It wasn’t long before a bony, clawed hand reached out, trying to snatch the sword from the surface of the lake. Vincent quickly gave the hand what it wanted- by forcing his sword in a strike downward, both hands on the handle. He struck the creature non-fatally, he knew, but could feel the impact and see the blood rise on the water.

 

The beast popped out. It was ugly, and looked like a human corpse covered in sludge and scales, eyes absurdly round and fish-like. The mouth was gaping open, with horrible little teeth, and the sound emitting from it was an awful hiss.

 

Vincent snatched the silver sword back and moved away from its grabbing arms, its slashing claws. Another one popped out of the water. And then another. He felt one trying to grab at his ankles in the water, but couldn’t get a good grip because of how shallow the water was and how the monster had to be lying on its belly.

 

One on his left dropped in a splash, a crossbow bolt lodged in its head. The smell that erupted was utterly foul, and Vincent, who was moving with wide steps in the water, gripped his sword with his elbow outward and his sword backwards, plunging it into the belly of one grabbing at his leathers to his right. He locked eyes with the creature for a brief moment as it howled, a shrieking noise as air was shoved out of its horrible mouth and its human-like nose. He removed the sword just as quickly, moving backwards again.

 

The injured one howled for a long time before collapsing in the water with a splash. Vincent began to move in semi-circles, readjusting the sword in his hand. The creatures were dumb things, about as dumb as fish, but they knew how to attack as a unit fairly well. Two of them swung their arms wildly with a shared hiss; Vincent planted one foot back behind him to steady himself, started with the blade by his shoulder and swung wide- resulting in a completely clean swipe of a Drowner’s hand. It plopped in the lake like a tossed stone.

 

While Vincent had that one reeling back, howling in pain, he was reeling back himself to avoid the untouched one. Right on time, a crossbow bolt came whizzing by him, taking out the one missing a hand and it dropped with another satisfying splash. Little needle-like teeth were trying to bite into his boot and Vincent raised his foot to stomp on what he assumed was a head, and used that foot to lean on as he struck forward into the next one.

 

One by one, the Drowners rose and fell. Some barely made it out of the water before they were cut down. Vincent had to listen out for the sharp noise of a crossbow bolt, but he trusted his brother not to shoot him in the back on accident. There were about eight Drowners residing in the water, nothing particularly strong as they probably didn’t eat much living in this location, and Vincent cut every single one down in an elegant dance.

 

Eventually, nothing rose from the water for quite some time. Vincent was sweating due to the sun shining down and reflecting green light on the lake, his chest moving heavily due to the exercise of having to move his leather-clad body in the water. Every inhale he took in the stench of rot and decay, of blood and putrid flesh, sweet and sour, like bile.

 

Wiping his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, he turned and called to his brother, who he saw waiting up the slope, at the foot of a tree. “It smells like shit!” he called, knowing his brother could smell it, too. “Am I done?”

 

Gilbert had the crossbow raised, but lowered it when he heard his brother speaking. He called back, “Did you kill the Hag yet?”

 

“She didn’t pop out, no!”

 

“Then we need to bait her out or wait her out!”

 

Vincent groaned audibly, relaxing his shoulders for a brief moment since he knew Gilbert was watching his back for him. It was maybe noon, and if the Water Hag had her way, they could be waiting until midnight, and even then she might not show. Vincent was feeling heavy because of being in the water for so long, but he knew he had to keep himself sharp.

 

He looked down at the blood and remains that were floating up to the surface of the water. He nudged blue-gray hand with the tip of his sword and it drifted away. Standing in all this filth made him want a bath, but definitely not in this water.

 

When he was young and studying to become a Witcher, he had read a folktale that Water Hags were once beautiful water nymphs that lost their beauty because they fell in love with a mortal man. It made them old and bitter creatures, but they still had the playful and immoral desires of a young nymph… Vincent knew those tales were all bullshit, that they were just putrid, disgusting swamp monsters, but he wished that the tales were true for a moment, because it would be more enticed to come out with two lovely young men waiting for it.

 

Vincent waited in the water. And waited. He debated stepping out of the water, but he was already in it. He also considered going deeper in the water, but that would give the Water Hag the advantage, as they could move just as quick underwater as they could on land, if not quicker, and he would have to slow down due to natural limitations. So he simply spit in the water and stirred it occasionally with the tip of his sword, and waited.

 

Because of all the gore floating to the surface of the lake, he wouldn’t be able to smell the Water Hag coming- he just had to hope that he could hear her moving under the water, or see her atrocious dorsal fin. He shifted from one leg to the other, trying to focus in and expand his pupils so he could see more around the surface tension of the lake, but not make his eyes big enough that the sunlight would make them burn.

 

It took two hours of waiting, still other than occasionally shifting and stirring up the water, Gilbert perched on higher ground with his crossbow drawn and loaded. Vincent kept his eyes alert on the water, looking for shifts, waves, bubbles, or any creature he could possibly see in the green, murky liquid. Fish were mainly what he would see, and even that was incredibly rare, so it was two hours of staring at nothing until he felt the water shift around him, heard the nearly silent movement underneath him, and saw the rippled effect of something approaching… and very, very rapidly.

 

“Here she comes!” was the warning to both his brother and himself, grip tightening on the silver blade. The Water Hag moved about as fast as a galloping horse underwater, so it had the terrain advantage by a mile. All Vincent could do was wait and hope it didn’t pull him under, hope he could time the strike first before it.

 

He saw the dorsal fin pop up when she was only a few feet away, and Vincent began to move himself, falling into a semi circle pattern. A crossbow bolt flew by him and dropped into the water at a high speed, but Vincent didn’t think his brother got anything with it, as it was still approaching Vincent incredibly rapidly--

 

Bony hands and sharp, sickle shaped claws grabbed his leg and yanked _hard_. Vincent lost his balance, falling backwards, cursing. His left hand shot out behind him to help hold him from completely going under, bending at the elbow, as his right plunged forward, striking at the assaulter.

 

He felt the impact and was released, and the Water Hag emerged before he could. She was only a bit taller than Gilbert at two yards tall, with wrinkled, blue-gray skin covered in warts. Her naked body looked like a long dead, elderly woman, with horrible growths coming out of her body to aid swimming. She hissed, showing terrible teeth the length of the tip of Vincent’s finger to his first knuckle, and a green, pointed tongue. Vincent’s blade had hit her shoulder; he could see blood there, streaming out of a gash.

 

Vincent tried getting up but the Water Hag suddenly dropped on top of him, using her weight to force him into the water. He dropped as well, back hitting the sand hard and left arm stretching out to claw at her back. They struggled and scrapped, scratching at each other, his sword getting lost from his right hand in the chaos and he could feel the sting of a claw cutting near his wrist. He pulled his right hand back and delivered a solid right hook into her cheek, knocking her snapping jaws away from his face. He shoved at her shoulders, digging his left hand into the exposed wound, hearing her watery howl. He used the leverage to raise his head above the water and gasped for breath.

 

In the distance, he heard Gilbert yelling, but it was completely unintelligible to him. The Water Hag was bigger than him and twice his weight, so the fact that she was using her brute force and weight to toss him around was incredibly effective. Vincent spat, groping one hand for his sword and trying to keep the beast away with the other hand. He needed the silver sword, steel wouldn’t work at all against the monster.

 

Vincent was yanked under the water again and narrowly avoided get scratched across the face. They scrapped again, a purely graceless tussle of scratches and traded blows. Vincent kicked at her crotch and legs with boot clad feet, and doing this enough managed to get her off again, raising herself to her own feet. Vincent emerged from the water again, taking in another mouth and nose-full of breath and stench.

 

The Water Hag got out of the water and attempted to mount him, for Vincent was half-laying and supporting his upper body with his arms outstretched behind him. He flailed, knocking her back to standing over him. The Water Hag hissed, before the sound turned into an ungodly screech, as flames erupted from her back and sides. Her eyes were wide as she screamed, a scratchy and awful thing, before collapsing back into the water, attempting to get the flames off. Vincent’s eyes found Gilbert, hand outstretched due to having just performed a Sign, entering the water steadily.

 

The Water Hag being knocked down in agony gave Vincent enough time to stand, spotting her dorsal fin and stepping hard on the burning back she was desperately attempting to cool off. His eyes searched rapidly for his sword until he finally spotted it, removing his foot from the howling creature and grabbing the hilt.

 

Gilbert struck the beast with precision while it was down, straight in the back, before Vincent could even begin to do so. It continued to howl, bubbles forming to the surface because of the air being forced out. Vincent stabbed at its squat, horrible body, joining his brother, cursing and panting. And eventually it stopped howling, and bubbles stopped forming, and it stopped flailing, and laid still, awful and stinking.

 

It was quiet, except for the toads croaking and the brothers breathing, Vincent more so than Gilbert. Sweat and gross water burned his mismatched eyes and he knew his hair stunk like monster gore and algae. Gilbert said nothing for some time, just taking the moment to catch his breath. Eventually, he was moved out of his silence and stillness by a mosquito trying to snack on his neck; he smacked his neck hard, smashing the bug, and then bent to drag the motionless corpse out of the water.

 

Vincent, still trying to gather himself, panted out, “And they wanted to pay us only twenty gold for this shit?” Gilbert grunted in response, eyes flickering up to his brother as he yanked at the deceased Water Hag’s shoulders. Vincent sighed, bending himself to help his brother pull at the beast. They would have to tie it to Raven so the horse could drag it back to town so everyone could see what they killed, what was lurking.

 

“After this,” Vincent grunted. “we can continue on our way to the Vessalius manor. But first, we need a bath. And new clothes. Hopefully the fifty will be put to good use.”


	4. A Nobleman (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part has already been written, I simply want to double check and have any errors corrected before publishing it. It shall be up before the end of the week. Thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading Witchers & Witches.

A Nobleman

 

I

 

 

Due to the “completely necessary” (coined by the younger sibling and _only_ the younger sibling) detour, the brothers arrived to the Vessalius territory way later than they both had originally intended. Territory- and that term specifically- was something that they learned at the tailor, who was able to inform them of a few things that they had not known beforehand: that there were four main nobles in the area, each who held their own territory and focused business in very specific areas.

 

The noble households were Vessalius, Nightray, Rainsworth, and Barma respectively. Nightray and Vessalius had old, longstanding disagreements about something that the brothers didn’t even care to learn about, and house Rainsworth acted as a mediator of sorts, so whenever business needed to cross between the two, house Rainsworth would step in and clear things up. Gilbert wrote off house Barma as _“completely irrelevant to our work”_ and disregarded whatever the tailor had to say about them. It was all politics to him, all politics that he had sworn he wouldn’t get involved in.

 

Vincent couldn’t help but get giddy when he saw the manor in the distance after a long, long ride. His throat felt dry and sweat was accumulating on his forehead due to the sun shining directly above them, and he took every hour to send a complaint to his brother about the riding conditions, and that he was going to smell when they met the nobles due to the sweating. “Should we have picked you up some perfume, then, _madam_?” Gilbert would sneer in return, seemingly unaffected by the heat despite being covered in only black, and Vincent would sigh, insisting that his brother didn’t “see the point”.

 

The closer they rode, though, Gilbert saw what the tailor had meant by “territory”. Territory was merely nothing more than a surrounding area, no bigger than a large neighborhood or a small city, because if one squinted in the distance long enough and didn’t have to deal with the glare of the sun, they could see the Rainsworth manor a bit far off, perfectly wedged in between house Vessalius and house Nightray, as if a literal block in between them would stop their quarrel about who knows what. House Vessalius had a large manor and controlled big portions to the west of it, House Rainsworth sat east of House Vessalius and controlled the North, House Nightray was east of House Rainsworth and controlled the east, and house Barma was directly south of house Rainsworth, the farthest of them all, and mainly dealt with the south and various port cities.

 

It seemed like a bunch of unnecessary work to Gilbert. Having more nobles in one area didn’t make the local politics any better; if anything, it just made things way more complicated, as the rich folk just kept getting richer and the peasants still lived in squalor and small farming towns.

 

The manor itself, though, was gorgeous, Gilbert would see. Elevated on a small hill, with cobblestones to reach what was clearly an ancient building that was kept up with love and care for both history and aesthetics. Lush greenery grew both on the building and all around it, from heavily maintained flowers to overgrown vines overtaking what looked to be a proper chimney, scaling all three stories of the stonework building. It was like a jade jewel in the middle of nowhere, and on the trek up the hill on the backs of their horses, the brothers were able to pick up the flags of a griffin, beak twisted into an almost-smile, on an emerald green background.

 

“Lavish,” Gilbert mumbled, seeing his brothers head turn to look at him through the corner of his eye. “but ultimately unnecessary. Where do these nobles get off, acting like they’re kings?”

 

“Oh, piss off. Learn to have some fun.” Vincent tossed his white hair, having a hard time keeping a grin off of his face. He was like a child sometimes. “We’re here for work, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t have a good time.”

 

The ride led the two brothers to a pair of guards, one raising his hand to call for a halt of their horses. Gilbert and Vincent obliged, slowing their horses to a stop so the man could approach. Gilbert pulled the note out of his pocket and flashed it to the guard, while Vincent announced on the other side of him, “We’re Witchers, sir. We were summoned here by the Lord Vessalius.”

 

“Aye,” the other guard said, gesturing for the two to continue up the hill. “we’ve been expecting you both. Up the path. Welcome, Witchers.”

 

II

 

 

The interiors were lavish as well, but not overwhelming. The building had age but was kept up very well, clean and lacking signs of crumbling in the stonework or water damage. One would even think it was aged purely for aesthetic reasons, but judging by portraits adorning hallways and tapestries depicting treaties and deeds, the family had been around for over one hundred years. Gilbert almost felt foolish, knowing that he didn’t know who they were out of deliberate avoidance of politics, but being in the home of someone he felt he _should_ know of and didn’t made him feel… awkward. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands as he and his brother were being escorted through the long corridors of the manor, footsteps the only thing to be heard and echoing throughout. 

 

Vincent looked confident and pleased, because of course he did. His odd eyes eventually found Gilbert’s, a smile forming on his mouth. “Nervous?”

 

“No,” Gilbert lied. Vincent smiled wider; Gilbert was shit at lying and attempting to lie to the same man since they were children had resulted in every single attempt becoming unsuccessful for years. Gilbert sighed, tacking on to his statement: “this is work. I’ll just treat it like any other job. I advise that you do the same.”

 

“Yes, brother.”

 

“Don’t be weird, either.”

 

“Of course, brother.”

 

The two were eventually led to a large, stone chamber, adorned with  green tapestries containing the Vessalius family symbol and a large,  green rug with golden borders.  The room was lit by multiple  open windows, which were decorated by expensive glass.  Bookshelves lined the walls, containing heavy looking tomes on politics and genealogy .  The candelabras were unlit due to the natural light pouring through the windows and the lack of curtains or draperies. In the center of the octagonal room was a writing desk, with papers scattered about it, and hosting a man, who looked up at the intrusion.

 

A mere look at him could see why the family colors were what they were, and Gilbert dully wondered if they were chosen because of how the Vessalius family happened to look, or if it was purely a coincidence. A square jawed man with golden hair  that  he pulled to the side and rested, bound with a ribbon, on his shoulders, and green eyes the color of-  of course- emeralds, the color of the tapestries. He wore spectacles and had a beard that covered the lower half of his face but did not meet in a proper mustache, and had unshaped, caterpillar-like eyebrows. 

 

The nobleman looked immediately startled by their appearance, a minuscule cringe happening in his jaw and shoulders, most likely in regards to Vincent’s shocking appearance. It did not go unnoticed by the Witchers. He quickly covered this behavior with a smile, one that reached up to his eyes and made them crinkle in the corners in an almost familial look of approval. The man looked to be approaching his fifties in age, but was doing so with the grace of a nobleman, not the struggle of a peasant.

 

“Welcome!” he greeted  loudly , slapping the tome he had been referencing to do paperwork with a heavy thud. He put his writing utensil away as the escorts bowed, one of them  reciting the arrival of the two Witchers to the nobleman. With a nod of his head, he dismissed the guards, who left the siblings alone with  him.

 

“I’m pleased to see you two. You came at a wonderful time,” he said, his voice  cheerful in a way that reminded Gilbert of the way a parent talked to their child.  Well, not that Gilbert would truly know anything about that. There was  also no comment that the two should have been there way before the time they had arrived, no talk of the detour. “I am Oscar Vessalius.”

 

Vincent bowed, not so low as one would to a king or an emperor, but a sweeping, polite thing, a smile on his face  that was most definitely  practiced . Gilbert stayed where he was, a quizzical frown appearing on his mouth and brow. “Oscar Vessalius?” he repeated the name, and knew that his brother was  peering-  maybe even glaring- up at him out of the corner of his eye. “We were summoned by the Lord Zai Vessalius.” 

 

“Aye, that you were!” Oscar Vessalius confirmed, standing from where he sat behind his desk. When he stood, some of his joints popped, and he made a pleased sounding grunt when this happened. He had a manner of speaking that was both low-brow and high-brow, which was puzzling to Gilbert, who expected pretentiousness and extravagance. “I’m his brother. I’ll be substituting for him for the day, as he’s not here at the moment.”

 

At that, Vincent openly looked over at his brother, a question clearly on his face of what to do with this information. Gilbert merely shrugged in response, as there was no reason to not get started with work so long as they were fed the proper information  and, eventually, received  proper payment for their work. “That is fine,” Gilbert confirmed, after sharing said look non-verbally with his brother, both turning back to the nobleman. “there is no reason we can not get to work immediately. When will he return?”

 

Oscar grimaced, giving a noncommittal shrug and hand tilt  to show that he didn’t know the exact date, or at least did and wasn’t willing to give the information with the strangers . “Within the week, Witchers. He  went out to do a bit of business, but we all knew that you were coming.  Ah, but enough of all that, I’m sure I can give you enough to get you boys started! And your names are?”

 

Gilbert wasn’t sure the last time he and Vincent had been referred to as “you boys”. Was it back when Old Man Levi was alive? Maybe Miss Lottie, who was always torn between being completely annoyed by their antics and utterly  charmed by the two of them? Either or, it was definitely before they got on the Path. He took too long to respond to the question, and Vincent- who had been strangely quiet- answered for him.

 

“I am Vincent, and this is my brother, Gilbert.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand at the older sibling. “ Pleasure to be working with you and your family. Now, shall we discuss the terms that we were called here for?”

 

“Absolutely. But first,” a sly smile, as Oscar Vessalius moved away from where he was standing behind the desk to a fairly large, wooden keg, and grabbed a tankard on the small table next to it. “drinks for you boys?”

 

Gilbert expected his brother to jump for joy at the offer to drink while meeting with a client, and was rather shocked to hear his brother say, “No, thank you. I’d rather not.” Gilbert turned, but his brothers  expression was completely unreadable, a mask of false pleasantness on his face. He wondered what was wrong, what had set him off, and if anything had set him off, or if he was just trying to take Gilbert’s warnings about professionalism  seriously.

 

Oscar Vessalius looked surprised  by the refusal too, despite having barely exchanged any words with Vincent. He blinked a few times, filling up the tankard nonetheless. “You, then, Gilbert, my boy?” he asked, recovering quickly with a  toothy grin.

 

Gilbert felt flustered, suddenly put on the spot. Truth be told, he was awful with alcohol and went out of his way to avoid drinking it. Being a Witcher made his constitution much better, much more inhuman, but for some reason his tolerance to alcohol was still rather shit. He tried to say no, but Oscar Vessalius was grinning wide as he smacked the side of the oak wood, closing the tap and striding over confidently to hand the drink to Gilbert. He felt as if he had no choice but to take it, and accepted it with a slow head nod.

 

“Best beer this side of the water, I promise you,” Oscar stated, full of pride, using an open palm to slap Gilbert’s arm in a familial way. His hand was large and warm. Gilbert felt even more flustered, not knowing how to respond to all this friendliness. He stuttered out a thank you, and lowered his head, face obstructed by black curls. When he glanced at his brother, he saw that Vincent wasn’t looking at him, or at Oscar at all.

 

After a peculiar pause, Vincent started up again, his voice much more firm this time around. “So, our job, my lord?”

 

“Please, call me Oscar!” he said, but his tone sounded like it was much more of a demand than a suggestion. He poured himself a tankard of beer and leaned his body against the desk he had been working on, half-sitting on it. He took a hearty sip, making the two wait quite a bit before he spoke up again. Gilbert took a much, much smaller sip to be polite. The beer was surprisingly good, just as the nobleman had said.

 

“Right, so,” he began after he swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his free wrist. “ my brother, Zai Vessalius, heard a bit about you two boys a while ago. Said someone made a suggestion to him at a dinner party when he mentioned he needed some work done. Something taken care of. Said you boys took care of some nasty thing a little ways away, some tree thing that people were worshiping like a god.”

 

Gilbert noticed the tightness in his brothers jaw, the subtle clenching of his fist. He sipped his beer in a silent observance, as Oscar continued.

 

“Now, this is nothing like that nasty business, but it’s still business that we can’t take care of. I suggested we hire some sell-sword or get some knight, but my brother insisted we get a good hold of you. It’s amazing that we did, too, as you two were bloody impossible to find!” Here he gave a short, hearty laugh. “But, I guess, as Witchers, there’s no point in you two staying in one place for long, huh? Anyways, we can’t do it ourselves, either, because of the treaty with the Rainsworth’s preventing us from getting directly involved with the Nightray’s without a direct third party or mediation-”

 

“If this is political,” Vincent cut him off rather rudely, startling Gilbert with his flat tone, “then we will have nothing to do with this. We hunt monsters, we don’t solve political disputes.”

 

Oscar’s smile fell, but quickly repaired itself, despite his light dying a little, his energy a bit deflated. He took a drink from his beer again, a more serious tone creeping into his voice. “Ah, I should get to the point, then. It does involve you boys. Y’see, we are allowed to take care of temporary prisoners who make attacks towards us. It’s our right, then we have ‘em handed off to proper authorities, or do with them as we will if given permission. But the Nightray family… they’ve been taking them down somewhere, and... they’ve been getting killed by a monster.”

 

Silence. Gilbert raised his head at the sudden turn of the conversation,  brows knitting together . Vincent crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head back  and his chin forward in an invitation . “Go on,  Lord Oscar.”

 

Oscar Vessalius did not comment on the direct disobedience of his suggestion on his name, and did as Vincent had asked him to. “My brother- and the rest of us- have reason to believe that the Nightrays are keeping a monster  somewhere in captivity, and people are getting killed by it .  Some prisoners, but some good people, too. And if you boys don’t stop it,  and it kills someone that it really shouldn’t, then there  _will_ be war. I know you said you don’t do political... but I think cutting out the heart of the problem is in your job description in  this  specific case,  eh? ”


	5. A Nobleman (Part Two)

A Nobleman

 

 

III

 

 

The amount of hours passed was equal to the amount of refills on beer both Gilbert and Oscar Vessalius had as they discussed the important details of the contract. Oscar had eventually taken his seat again on the other side of his desk and Gilbert sat across from him, hands folded and listening attentively, every now and then asking questions related to the work. Vincent did not sit even when he was offered, and paced in the room like a caged dog, listening attentively. Occasionally he would take off his gloves to pick at his nails, and he would ask a question in a very firm tone, but despite how close the younger brother teetered towards the line of being rude to the nobleman, Oscar Vessalius never appeared to get offended and always answered as pleasantly as before and to the best of his abilities.

 

Unfortunately, the best of his abilities wasn’t much to go by. There had been gossip amongst Vessalius guards and servants that multiple Nightray guards and servants had gone missing or turned up dead due to the supposed beast, but the bodies were always moved or covered up, presumably because the Nightray family was covering their tracks. A heretic had attacked House Nightray a few years ago in the “honor of House Vessalius” (which Oscar explained that the house had nothing to do with his man), and instead of being temporarily imprisoned and then fined as he deserved, the man disappeared, presumably dead. Then, more significantly, the eldest Nightray son- who went by the name of Fred- and the brother of Bernard Nightray (who was the head of the household), died mysteriously despite being in good health, and no one had been allowed to see their bodies.

 

“Other than the heretic,” Vincent pointed out after much discussion, mismatched eyes serious but not making contact with anyone else but the tapestry. “there have been no murders relating to House Vessalius. Everything seems to benefit you all. Why bother getting involved in this?”

 

Oscar Vessalius took a long drink of his beer before responding properly, and answered rather plainly: “It would be blind of me to not recognize that this beast was meant for us. Why else have it?”

 

“We hardly even know if it is truly a beast,” Vincent countered, still not looking at anyone. The thread count must be fascinating to him, Gilbert observed dully, his brain buzzing a bit due to the alcohol. Outside, the sky was turning orange and pink, and the shades of color brought a new life into the room, casting shadows in corners and coloring Vincent’s colorless hair. “In all actuality, it is likely to be Lord Bernard Nightray having people he finds issue with taken out in a manner he hopes is discreet. Which is an issue, but is not monstrous in anything other than behavior.”

 

“I know it’s not much to go by, and that you boys will want some form of proof, but I mean it when I say that we are not trying to waste your time or lead you astray.” These kind words were then immediately followed by a rather loud belch, and Oscar pounded on his own chest with a fist. The brothers waited patiently for him to continue talking, and he eventually did. “I don’t know much about your order, or your school, but I have respect for Witchers. I think you’re people doing a service that the world needs. I wouldn’t let my brother contact you both if I didn’t believe in this.”

 

It could have been the alcohol, but Gilbert was suddenly almost completely and utterly overwhelmed with emotion. He had faced various forms of tolerance in his life, and at best accommodations that were offered in both mild awe and fear for what he was and what he did, but never received words of appreciation for his not-chosen profession. Gilbert knew he was unsightly with his golden cat eyes and the thought of him was a reminder that there were “people” out in the world that made good coin on the misfortune of others, but he did believe in the cause of the Witcher’s Path, and he did believe in the idea of helping people. Truly, something as simple as mere words of appreciation was enough to threaten his eyes with the stinging of emotion, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to remain professional, taking a swig of beer to hide his face, as he knew it was flushed.

 

Vincent, however, did not appear impressed, nor convinced. He sighed audibly, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face Oscar Vessalius properly. His mismatched eyes locked with the older man’s and the gulp from Oscar could even be heard from where he was standing due to his good senses. Vincent spoke sharply, completely disregarding his brother’s sudden swell of emotion: “The sentiment is appreciated, but we do not work on sentiment alone. Taking a contract with nothing to go on other than the possibility of it being paranoia of the upper class or scandals of nobility is not in our job description. I recognize the _possibility_ of there being a beast, as you say, but that’s all I can recognize.”

 

Oscar frowned, setting down his drink of beer for a moment while he thought of what exactly to say in response. Gilbert wanted to speak up, but he didn’t know what to say either; on one hand, Vincent was absolutely right, there was no point in endangering themselves or getting involved in something that was possibly entirely political or idle servant gossip… but on the other hand, Gilbert wanted to help. He didn’t see what was wrong with at least sticking their noses into the situation for a bit, and seeing if there _was_ anything they could help with before things got worse. He knew he was only hearing biased reports, but if they could investigate…

 

“Wait,” Gilbert spoke up, clearing his throat. “if we get involved in this- hypothetically- would we even be allowed to go to the Nightrays? We are a third party, but we would be employed by the Vessalius family.”

 

“The Rainsworth’s are already aware of Zai’s request for you two.” The answer was easy, and Oscar’s voice was warm. He gave a look of approval at Gilbert, not unlike a teacher for approving of an inquisitive question. “You would have to meet with them, and they would arrange a proper visitation with the Nightrays, and then you could do your work as freely as you would like.”

 

“Visitation?”

 

“Probably in the form of a dinner party, and then a written document so there is no confusion. That’s how they like to do things.”

 

Vincent spoke up, his hands now on his hips. “So, the Rainsworths know about this. Do they support your claims about the violence and possible ownership of a monster?”

 

Gilbert could see that Oscar was doing his best to remain polite, and was, quite frankly, doing a rather good job at it. He wondered what exactly was biting at his brother so badly, who was usually not so cold to potential clients. In fact, _Gilbert_ was the one who was boorish and unintentionally cold and rude, and Vincent was typically wonderful with the social interactions.

 

“They agree enough to support the involvement in investing in Witchers. And we _do_ plan on investing.” Here, Oscar reached and pulled out a parchment, rolled up but not sealed shut; he stood, reaching over Gilbert to hand it to Vincent, who accepted it. “The agreed amount, signed and stamped by my brother and approved by Duchess Sheryl Rainsworth. With specific details for your time, travel, and if you decide to leave early.”

 

It didn’t take a Witcher’s senses to see Vincent’s response to the figures he was reading. Gilbert watched his eyes skim over, casually reading, then stumbling upon something that caught him by surprise, to which his eyes widened- so he started over, and read every word carefully again, until he finally finished, his pupils dilating from almost-human to completely encompassing his eyes, revealing only the slightest of rings of color, not unlike a cat when hunting. His gloved hands were tight on the edges of the parchment. There were no words for quite some time, until Vincent raised his head, his eyes adjusting and pupils becoming smaller in the light.

 

Vincent licked his lips again before speaking. “These are very generous conditions.”

 

Oscar’s mouth widened into a smile, lips parting to show his teeth. “Even if things are a waste of time, like you fear, that should make up for it, I hope. Eh, Vincent, my boy?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Vincent spoke, a hunger that scared his brother creeping into the edges of his voice. Finally, he smiled, a look that didn’t look as forced as all of his other ones had. “it makes up for things quite nicely.”

 

IV

 

 

Terms and conditions were discussed while Gilbert and Oscar finished off their beers and got new ones when Vincent decided he would officially call it a night. The sun had started beginning to set, and the shadows grew larger and larger in the room. Vincent made a small Sign to light a single candelabra, much to Oscar’s amusement. After receiving an explanation on where he could find dwelling for the night inside the manor, Vincent left the room, leaving his brother and the nobleman drinking in the candlelight, as the darkening of the sky was able to be seen through the open windows.

 

Gilbert told his brother he would join him later, planning on finishing the drink and continuing to talk with Oscar Vessalius. Vincent huffed but said nothing before disappearing, looking like a ghost in the shadows of the hallway before closing the door. After a pause, possibly waiting for Vincent to be some distance away from the room, Oscar spoke up again, a bit quiet this time: “Rather serious, isn’t he?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Vincent. Your brother, I mean.” Oscar took another swig. If he was drunk, Gilbert couldn’t tell, but he definitely knew that he was feeling the alcohol on him.

 

Gilbert shrugged. “It’s unusual that he’s so serious,” he confessed, too intoxicated to think twice about revealing too much about his brother. He had never spoken to someone who was interested in them. “he’s usually a bit…. Friendlier, or playful. I told him before we came here to be serious, though. I think he heeded my advice.”

 

Oscar nodded his head, listening intently. He shifted a bit in his seat for comfort. “You two are actually brothers? Truly, blood-siblings, not merely bonded over being Witchers?” After this, he blanched suddenly, as if ashamed of his own words coming out of his mouth. “If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

 

“He is my brother, born of the same parents.” Gilbert confirmed, not at all offended by the question. Well, he believed that they were born of the same parents. Truth be told, Gilbert couldn’t remember their parents at all- as far back as his memories took him, he remembered being in the care of Oswald, with the other boys at the castle they lived at, preparing to become a Witcher. Vincent, though- Vincent had a better memory, and had said before that he envied his brother for his selective memory, as Vincent “ _wished he didn’t remember_ ”.

 

“That’s remarkable! I had thought so- you two resemble each other in the face- but, the thought of Witchers being related isn’t anything I’ve ever heard of.”

 

“We are considered a rarity, yes.”

 

“There’s a sweetness to that, sticking together through all of this business you two do,” Oscar commented, putting an elbow on his desk and resting his cheek in his hand in a very lower-class manner. “though, then again, I live and do business with my brother as well. Not all honey and wine, is it?”

 

“Not at all. We would have been here sooner if Vincent didn’t demand clean clothes.”

 

Oscar laughed a hearty laugh, one that shook his belly and his shoulders. “I could tell he seemed rather well-groomed for a Witcher! It’s the hair, it must be. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair quite like that. There’s a serving boy the Rainsworth daughter has who has white hair, you’ll probably meet him, but it’s nothing like that. Your brother is almost otherworldly. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking.”

 

Gilbert somehow had enough clarity to swallow a comment about how Vincent wasn’t otherworldly at all, he just looked it because of the unnatural hair and eyes. He decided to shift the subject off of his own brother, asking, “Do you and your brother get along?”

 

Oscar made a noncommittal shrug with his broad shoulders, and Gilbert understood the sentiment. Even if he and Vincent technically got along, it was hard to gauge it because of differences. Siblings were siblings, human or mutant. “We’re fine, the two of us. Being the head of the household, he handles most of the business here, which is fine by me. I enjoy living with his children.”

 

“Children?”

 

“Well, they’re hardly children anymore,” a fond chuckle, and Gilbert finally understood why he got such strong, familial vibes from this man; when starting to talk about the Vessalius children, he lightened up completely, radiant and totally in his element. “Oz and Ada. They are, by all technicalities, _adults_ now, but I’ll always think of them as children. I’ve been with them since birth, though, and it’s hard not to view them as my own.”

 

“That’s a very nice sentiment,” Gilbert mumbled, having a drink and trying not to smile. The tone Oscar took when talking about the two was pleasant to his ears, and it made him want to interact with them, despite not being particularly a people-person. “Do you have children of your own? Are you married?”

 

“Ah, no. My wife died during childbirth.”

 

If Gilbert could eat his own hand, he would have at that exact moment. He choked on his drink, sputtering, his fist being brought to his mouth as shame washed over his body, hot and sudden. He wished harder than anything that the ground would open up and swallow him whole, or Vincent would kick down the door and cut him to pieces. Curse his brother for leaving him in a social situation, when Vincent was the one who was supposed to handle them!

 

Oscar looked concerned, immediately leaning over in an attempt to aid Gilbert at dislodging whatever was in his throat. Gilbert batted his hands away, croaking out a raspy, “I’m sorry”.

 

“It was years ago,” Oscar didn’t say ‘no, it’s quite alright’, and simply stated that it was a long time ago, something that was brutally honest and didn’t make Gilbert feel any better at all.

 

“I didn’t know--”

 

“Gilbert, my boy! Quit feeling so sorry for yourself!” Oscar’s voice raised in volume dramatically, and even though the words weren’t particularly odd or cold, they had the tone of a master commanding a servant. A small, submissive part of Gilbert made him lower his head, shoulders slumping as he started getting his coughing under control. Oscar was still smiling, despite all this. “But, to save any future awkward conversations, my brother lost his wife as well. He’s not as forgiving when you bring it up.”

 

“Noted,” Gilbert grumbled, making a mental notation to not mention anything about dead wives to Zai Vessalius when they officially met. His jaw twitched and his body suddenly ached for nicotine; he reached for his stash of chewing tobacco in his pouch. When Oscar Vessalius saw this, he spoke up.

 

“Would you like a pipe instead?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Oscar Vessalius stood up, opening a small, wooden box from a shelf and retrieved what looked like an intricately carved smoking pipe. Carved into it was the sigil of the smiling griffon. He waved it around in front of Gilbert’s face, golden cat eyes following it attentive, before passing it to him. “I could go for smoking myself, I must say,” he admitted to Gilbert, softly. “so feel free to try using this instead of just putting it in your mouth. I’d love to see you do that flame trick with this. Ah, and let me get you another beer. It’ll do you some good to not be so serious.”

 

V

 

Vincent knew exactly how he was behaving and wanted to stop, but couldn’t bring himself do, constantly biting down inappropriate things to say and rude behavior in favor of not completely humiliating his older brother. He was in a bad mood, and hadn’t expected to be coming into the Vessalius manor.

 

Was he naive? How could he have been so blind about this? Dealing with nobles was the same as dealing with peasants, only this time they didn’t hurl slurs casually at him. Apparently, that was enough to appease Gilbert.

 

The manor was beautiful, but it made Vincent long to be in Sablier, the castle he and his brother had been raised in, with Oswald scolding him for something and Miss Lottie looking absolutely ripe for pranking. The Vessalius servants who kept their eyes down and avoided looking at the Witcher were practically not noticeable, but he wanted his old servant, Echo, a girl so quiet she barely existed, as she folded the sheets he always left undone in Sablier. Oscar Vessalius was a pleasant enough nobleman and not a horrible employer, but the moment they had locked eyes he had cringed as if Vincent was a bed bug, and it made Vincent’s stomach turn.

 

Playing at the idea of wanting to be involved with noblemen was all fun and games until Vincent realized that they would see his face, and think of him as disgusting as the monster they wanted him to kill.

 

This, of course, didn’t appear to bother his _brother_ at all, which made Vincent feel even more bitter inside. Why couldn’t he have been that simple? Gilbert could receive a drink of beer, a clap on the shoulder, and some kind words and it would make Gilbert forget, for a short time, who and what he was, so he could bask in the light of the Vessalius. Not Vincent, though, who couldn’t afford the luxury of ignorance, so he would stay in the shadow of what he was, and what he was trained to do, which was to make money off of suffering.

 

At least the money was enough to turn the blind eye and forget Gilbert’s philosophies that he had been preaching since the day they got on the Path. Avoiding politics was the life motto until politics had a nice smile and green eyes- then Gilbert would agree to do it without a second thought. It was Vincent who had to seem like the asshole and not agree until more reasoning as to why he should was brought up- and that reasoning was done in the form of a hefty coin-purse, and still being able to receive a certain amount of money if they discovered that nothing unnatural was going on at all.

 

This, of course, meant two things to Vincent: that Zai Vessalius was absolutely confident that there was, indeed, a monster that the Nightray family possessed and were planning to have it wipe out the Vessalius family… or that Zai Vessalius was absolutely confident that the two of them would not make it out of this job alive.

 

Vincent could see through the glass windows aligning the corridors that night had officially risen, the moon high in the sky and casting a white light on the darkness of the surrounding area. He wanted to leave the social situation and call it a night, but he wasn’t tired at all, despite the long ride to get here. He stopped walking to lean against the stonework frame around the window, observing the land below the manor: they were high enough on the hill that he could see lush greenery for a long while, even in the darkness, thanks to the moonlight. He wanted to open the window and feel the breeze, or go outside so his bitter and jealous mood could be scrubbed clean by the peace of the night- or, rather, the peace of being inside guarded walls, as the night was anything but peaceful to the rest of the world.

 

A thought crossed his mind about a garden, and he recalled hearing something about said thing. The famed Vessalius garden. His eyes scanned what he could see from the window, wondering if he could spot the garden, but he could not. Vincent decided to make it his goal for the night to find said garden, and have a moment of peace, if the world would allow him that, while his brother was too busy drinking and bonding with their employer to be by his side.

 

Vincent took his time with leisurely maneuvering the halls of the Vessalius manor. He knew he could ask for directions at whatever point he wanted, but he also simply didn’t feel like it, and figured a bit of exploration would do him some good. There were three floors, a massive great-hall, several long corridors which led to either studies or similar looking libraries, a dining hall that was completely empty, what looked to be a meeting room, a proper drawing room- and that was all that Vincent could find, because he knew on other floors there were bedrooms and rooms for bathing and probably more extravagances for the rich. The serving quarters and areas were actually rather large as well, so the ones who lived in the manor (which seemed to be quite the many) were very well accommodated, but Vincent did not enter any of their private areas.

 

Oscar’s office had been an octagonal room at the end of a long corridor, so Vincent backtracked into the great hall, went down a few dead ends that he didn’t understand, and eventually found _another_ long corridor adjacent to what appeared to be a governess’ chambers. It appeared either Zai Vessalius or Oscar Vessalius had children, but that wasn’t much of a surprise to Vincent at all. When entering down that corridor, Vincent peeked out of the window to find what looked to be the gardens, and finally exited out onto the porch.

 

The night air felt nice due to the elevation, a breeze rolling in over the hill and cooling down the heat. Immediately after leaving the palace Vincent felt at ease, closing the door behind him and putting his palms flat on the railing of the porch. He inhaled a long, slow breath: his nose captured the smells of lavender, roses, and even blackberry bushes, mixed in with the smell of the night and lush greenery of the trees casting shade, even in the nighttime in the garden, and the water from a fountain. The gardens were divided into sections by expertly trimmed bushes, and judging by the seating placed around the lot Vincent figured this was a popular place to have social gatherings and drink wine when the weather was nice.

 

Keeping one hand on the railing he lifted himself over the balcony fence, landing nimbly on his feet on the stonework beneath him. No one seemed to be out here with him, so he stretched, going through the various flora around him, doing his best to identify between three different types of white flowers and trying to remember his lessons about herbs that he used to have. He realized that he should probably pick up a book and try to refresh his memory, because he started to struggle to remember the name of what the white flowers with yellow faces were when he became aware that he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

 

Vincent was not afraid and stayed exactly where he was. Over the sound of rushing water from the fountain he could barely make out the sound of a breath, of very small footsteps on stone that were trying their hardest to be quiet, until the stopped definitely closer to him. He assumed he hadn’t been aware of it before due to the already present noises of the garden, and slowed his movements while still not looking, attempting to act natural. Whoever was behind him definitely wasn’t getting any closer than a few feet, and seemed content to watch him from a decent distance, possibly observing the swords he carried on his back (what a shock it was, that the Vessalius security did not make them give those up), or what the Witcher could be doing with the flowers.

 

He would normally be content to let them watch him, but his previous annoyance of how Oscar had looked at him started bubbling inside his chest again. He spoke, tone soft, but volume loud enough that the spy would definitely be able to hear it: “I won’t hurt you, you know. Why don’t you come out of hiding and speak with me?”

 

A gasp, resulting in a nearly choked sound of breath getting caught in throat; Vincent was able to tell that it was a woman by that noise. He rose slowly, knowing he had already startled the other person and if they hadn’t attacked or started hurtling insults at his face by now, then they probably wouldn’t. There were no footsteps, and they didn’t approach him like he had requested. Vincent- still moving slowly- turned around.

 

They were poorly hidden, on the other side of the pillar where the balcony had started, hiding around it and peeking at him. In the light of the full moon Vincent could see her features; a woman, with a comely face and clear Vessalius genes, judging by the golden hair that was blanched by the moon and emerald eyes. She didn’t look necessarily scared or angry, merely startled at being called out and discovered without being necessarily seen. When Vincent faced her, she came out of her poorly executed hiding spot, to properly expose herself to him, her hands behind her back.

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you, is all,” she had said, her voice soft. Even if Vincent hadn’t met Oscar mere moments before, he could tell she was a noble by the way she was dressed and the way that she looked; pale colors with floral prints, her skirts kissing the ground and her golden hair adorned with a pin that probably costed more than what he made in an average Contract. Her skin lacked any pox, any scarring, any imperfection; just pale, smooth, and perfect, a true sign of a noble that never had to worry about any of the harshness of the outdoors.

 

In the moment they met, Vincent hated her and her stupid, privileged face.

 

“I’m sorry if I had bothered you.” Her tone was mousy and she bit her lower lip, as if Vincent was about to scold her for doing something bad. However, she didn’t look up through her lashes at him with fear and repulsion; her expression was, completely unmistakably, one of fascination.

 

Vincent knew he must have been a sight to behold, with his white hair shining in the moonlight, cat eyes dilated enough to see properly in the dark, dressed in dark clothes with swords tucked into their scabbards. He must have looked like some sort of ghost. “You didn’t bother me at all,” he lied through his teeth. “I was simply admiring the garden. It’s so nice out here, even this late.”

 

“I had actually lost track of the time-” she said, revealing what she had behind her back; a book, with no title and no markings indicating what it was about, just a simple, black cover. “I had been reading, and realized that it had gotten much later than I intended. I was heading back inside, and, well- I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but-”

 

“It’s fine.” It was not fine. Vincent did not care for being stared at like he was an object. “I do not mind at all. I am in your home, you are in your element.”

 

She looked up at him properly at that, squeezing the book to her shapely bust as tight as she could. Vincent wondered distantly if it hurt to do that. “You’re the Witcher, am I not mistaken? The one my father hired? I heard you would be coming.”

 

“You are the daughter of Lord Zai Vessalius?” he asked instead, before realizing he should probably answer the daughter of a nobleman. “I am. My name is Vincent. My brother is in a deep discussion with your uncle at the moment.”

 

“Oh! So you have already met Uncle Oscar?” her eyes were twinkling in the moonlight, and if Vincent had missed the fascinated look on her face before, he would be blind to not notice it now. She took a step closer, clutching the book to her chest even harder. That had to be uncomfortable, she was not a small-chested woman. “I hadn’t been alerted that you had arrived. I would have been more proper and introduced myself.”

 

“It’s no issue, we were mainly discussing business.” A pause, and Vincent’s lips curled into an amused smile, eyebrow quirking. “You can still introduce yourself, you know.”

 

She immediately flushed, almost dropping her book, an unbecoming squawk coming out of her mouth as her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, raising one hand to cover her mouth. She took a second to compose herself, clearing her throat and then using one hand to do a slightly improper curtsy. “I am Ada Vessalius,” she said in a very practiced voice. It came to Vincent’s attention that she must have rehearsed for this encounter. “and I am very pleased to have you and your partner in our home. Please let me know if I can ever be of service. Welcome, o’ Witcher.”

 

The whole thing was amusing and ridiculous to witness. Vincent had to prevent himself from laughing at the absurdity of it all. Vincent raised his own, gloved hands to clap twice, as if he was pretending to be in court, before bowing, giving her the same sort of formality as she had just unnecessarily presented. “I thank you for your generosity, Miss Ada Vessalius. I am humbled in your presence.”

 

She was smiling at him in such a warm way that Vincent almost wanted to ask her why she was looking at him like that. Ada Vessalius pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear, before speaking up again, “Did you happen to get lost? I could help show you around. I know the layout of my home isn’t the most welcoming to newcomers.”

 

“Not at all, I intended to come here. I wanted to observe the garden.” He also wanted to be alone, but he swallowed those words down. “I figured the night air would do me well.”

 

“Then, if you don’t mind-” there she went again, clutching that book to her chest, looking nervous. Her eyes flitted downwards again in doubt about what she was going to say, before peering up at him through her long eyelashes. “- could I keep you some company? I would like to chat with you. I’ve never spoken with a Witcher before.”

 

Vincent was pretty sure that before this day, no one she had ever met had even seen a Witcher before. But he didn’t say anything sarcastic and nodded, smiling gently at her, and allowed himself to be led along so the two of them could sit down. Ada escorted him to the fountain, in the center of the garden, the surrounding area perfectly symmetrical and identical on either sides with the planting layout. Whoever did the landscaping had attention to detail, and Vincent admired the place before having a seat on the bench along the fountain, at the perfect distance to not get the back of him splashed with droplets of water.

 

It was lovely, and the less than ideal company could not spoil it for Vincent. He felt much more at peace than he had earlier, inside and talking with Oscar. He sighed in the night air as Ada Vessalius took a cautious seat next to him, placing her book in her lap. Despite it being definitely night now, the moon was so bright and the sky was littered with stars, providing enough light for the Witcher. Vincent had no real recollection of what it was like to have human eyes anymore, and didn’t know if Ada could see him properly, but out of the corner of his eye he could observe that she was staring up at him, looking in awe at this white haired mutant.

 

They sat in silence for some time, contradictory to what Ada had said would happen. Vincent didn’t mind. Her presence wasn’t the worst when she was silent, because Vincent could pretend he was either alone or spending time with his brother instead. A part of him wishes his brother was with him in this moment; he could rest his head on his shoulder and trade stories from the past together. He didn’t like being apart from him…

 

Ada eventually broke the silence, her words quick, sudden, and loud, almost startling for Vincent to hear: “Have you ever seen a Fiend before?!”

 

Vincent didn’t physically jump, miraculously, but he was certainly jarred by the question, turning to look at her. She looked embarrassed for how the inquiry came out, but she still continued to stare up at him, not backing down. She had rather big eyes. Big, emerald green eyes. Vincent supposed he would consider them pretty, but he also supposed that they made her look a little vacant.

 

When he ran the question in his head again, unsure if he had heard her correctly, he nodded slowly, before asking, “Was that what you wanted to know?”

 

“Yes. Well,” she finally looked away, her hands fiddling on the edges of her book. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “amongst other things. I’ve never seen anything like these creatures, I’ve only ever heard of them. I wanted to know… what was true, and what was not… and… I’m sorry. You probably didn’t want to be interrogated.”

 

Vincent found these words, like the original question, incredibly unexpected. He hadn’t anticipated that that was what she wanted to talk about. He supposed it made some sort of sense, as he was the best example of something who regularly dealt with monsters, and she was something that had never seen one before. He supposed he could share a few tales with her, and answer some questions; it was a subject he had expertise in, after all. “I don’t mind,” he comforted, making sure his voice was feather-soft. “Please, feel free to ask. Yes, I have seen a Fiend. I have killed one before, too.”

 

Ada looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder and fascination. Vincent couldn’t tell if she was going to ask more about the Fiend, because again, her mouth was rapid firing another question at him- only this time, he was prepared for it. “What about a Nekker?”

 

“A Nekker? I’ve probably exterminated hundreds of them. They’re rather primitive creatures, I assure you.”

 

“A Foglet, maybe?”

 

“Hmm, yes. I have. Twice, in the swamplands. Ghastly creatures.”

 

“A werewolf?”

 

“Ah! Now that’s a bit more of a challenge. Yes. One. It was an… unfortunate case.”

 

“Do you mind telling it to me, sometime?”

 

Vincent was caught off guard for the third time, stumbling in the rhythm of the conversation. He knitted his eyebrows together, wondering if she was serious, but she didn’t back down in the slightest. Vincent didn’t anticipate that she wouldn’t want this conversation to be a one-time thing. “That’s quite fine,” he said without really thinking on it too much, making a hand gesture to signify they could continue the rapid fire of questions.

 

Ada smiled, and started up again, seeming content to do this the whole night with him. Vincent didn’t feel like he minded, as the breeze rustled his hair and the smell of the flowers soothed his soul.

 

“Have you ever seen a Plague Maiden before?”

 

“Now, _where_ did you hear of that, Miss Ada? No, I have not.  I loathe to see one as well, they are terrible creatures.”

 

“A Water Hag?”

 

“What a coincidence, we actually just killed one right before coming here. Only one person in an entire town even knew about it. Well, one person that survived, anyways.”

 

“How horrid! I would love to hear about that one some time, too.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Now, let me see…… Ah! What about a Striga?”

 

“That brings back memories. Yes, quite some time ago… A Striga is another uncommonly known one, you surprise me...”

 

“Would you be willing to tell me more about that one, too?”

 

“Yes, Miss Ada Vessalius. All of these, in time, Miss Ada Vessalius. Do you have any more?”

 

“I do! Now...”


End file.
